Chapter 3

"You told him." I slammed the apartment door shut the second Chloe walked in. 

"I didn't say a word." Chloe put her hands up.

"Sloane, my dad is a federal agent. We know how to keep a secret."

I gripped the sleek, black smartphone Julian had given me as a graduation gift.

I shoved the device straight into Agent Ford's hands. 

"Tear its operating system apart," I said. "Find the tracker."

The next morning, my bank's HR director summoned me to her office. 

She slid a thick manila folder across the desk. "Your background check hit a critical error. Your medical clearance form vanished from our digital portal."

A million-dollar offer.

A decade of starving, studying, and clawing my way out of poverty.

Void.

I locked myself in a soundproof conference room on the 40th floor and dialed his number. 

"Did you intercept my HR file?" I demanded. 

"Sloane? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Drop the act. Return it, or I swear to God, I will short your startup into bankruptcy before the market closes."

"I love you," he whispered into the receiver. "Why are you doing this to us?"

I muted the microphone. My fingers flew across my laptop keyboard. 

I ran a reverse IP trace on his active cellular connection. The command prompt fed lines of data across the black screen. The coordinates locked in. 

The network was local. 

He was logged into the firm's private guest Wi-Fi. He was on the executive floor. 

I shoved the laptop aside and sprinted down the carpeted hallway. 

I threw open the door to Sarah's office. 

Julian stood in front of my mentor's desk.

I marched right up to him and slapped him across the face.

Julian stumbled back. 

I ripped his leather briefcase from his grip and dumped it over the carpet. 

Binders, expensive pens, and a venture capital pitch deck tumbled out.

No medical file. 

My stomach dropped. 

"Sloane! What is wrong with you?"

Sarah jumped up from her leather chair, her face flushed with absolute fury.

"He stole my clearance!" I pointed a shaking finger at Julian. "I survived a bankrupt, abusive family to get this job! He's trying to sabotage my offer to trap me! I will kill him!"

The door creaked open behind me. 

"No one sabotaged your offer."

The HR director stepped into the office. She held a sealed, physical document with a red stamp. 

"Your parents showed up at the lobby an hour ago with a lawyer," the director said. "They tried to submit a forged psychiatric evaluation claiming you have severe schizophrenia."

My breath snagged in my throat. 

"Julian found out they were here," the director continued. "He called building security, escorted them out, and has been standing in this office begging us to protect your employment status."

Footsteps rushed up the hallway behind her. Chloe burst into the office, out of breath. 

"Sloane, you are out of control." Chloe stared at the scattered papers on the floor, then at my raised, shaking hand. "My dad took your phone apart down to the motherboard. It’s clean. There is absolutely no tracker. You're wrong."

Whispers drifted from the open doorway. Analysts and associates gathered in the hall, watching the spectacle. 

"Total psycho."

"Clawed her way up from the gutter just to lose her mind."

"Accusing the guy who just saved her career."

The isolation crashed over me.

My own best friend wouldn't look at me. The firm was writing me off. 

Julian ignored the crowd. He stepped over his scattered pitch deck and gently shielded me from the stares of my colleagues. 

"It's okay," he told Sarah. "I know she's sick. I'll liquidate my shares if I have to. I'll afford the best private care for her."

He reached out his hand to me. 

Maybe Chloe was right. Maybe the stress had finally broken my brain. Maybe the floating numbers were just a psychotic break. 

I slowly lifted my hand, inches away from placing it into his. 

Julian exhaled.

A micro-expression of triumph flashed across his eyes. 

His posture relaxed, and his tailored suit jacket fell open by a fraction of an inch. 

Tucked deep inside his breast pocket, a metallic receiver box blinked with a tiny, green transmission light. 

I finally knew exactly why his kill probability had skyrocketed from a zero to a blood-red one hundred percent.